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Sharp, we called him at the Bardhall. His true name was something much longer, quite burdensome, and quickly forgotten. He was two years younger than, but his voice was the most spectacular soprano that the Bardhall had seen in generations. He was also one of the wild boys, so much so that Master Meiltung often threatened to hand him over to the Christians who had, it was said, a way of keeping a boy’s voice high forever.
After an initial period of disagreement, Sharp and I became close friends. At night we would creep out of the hall and visit the taverns, earning coins and drinks with our songs. We paired up for sword training and book study. During the summers, he was my traveling companion – until the year he wanted to return to Rockridge, and I went instead to Songless.
